Best Just let me Be
by BrokenSolitude
Summary: Set during the return from Davy Jones' Locker in "At World's End." Captain Barbossa tells the tale of what it's like to be dead...and then be raised again, for a purpose not of his own. One-shot.


**"Best Just Let Me Be"**

A/N: A quickie one-shot I came up with watching "At World's End" on Syfy tonight. I always loved the expression Geoffrey uses for Barbossa when they're looking out at the droves of dead floating by, and he says "it's best just let them be." I thought it gave a lot away- in an enlightening way, not a plot-ruining way, of course- about the magnitude and depth of Barbossa's character. So here's my take on the whole...back from the dead thing.

* * *

><p>"It's best just let them be."<p>

Aye, I know my face betrays me as I say it. Like a pathetic suckling sea-cow, I am. Shameful. But I cannot belay the way I feel.

Aye, I _feel_.

'Tis a strange thing indeed, after ten years of bein' trapped inside a hollow, senseless shell that could only do so much as long for the things it could not be havin'. An' bein' fully dead for nigh a year doesn't aid the…situation.

When I first awoke, I remember naught but the fact that I was soaked through. And it was not the comfortable, familiar feelin' of the sea water loggin' me- it was an unearthly, crushin' weight, like the entire ocean. And, th' cold! I tried very hard to think back- it seemed to me that I had felt that some- relatively- short time previous, and perhaps had commented on it, but I found it to be an impossible task.

I tried to open my eyes, but this, too, proved too difficult for even one such as myself. It was as if I were a pris'ner in me own bones. Again. But this time, it were an even worse fate.

Don't be tellin' a soul, or I'll have the utmost pleasurable experience of keelhaulin' yer filthy hide, takin' extra-special care to ensure ye suffer and shan't perish, but I've ne'er been so thoroughly terrified in me whole life- and death- as I was in that moment.

And then, a voice like the angel of death- with whom I am uncomfortably close acquaintances.

"Hector Barbossa." It did not question- it assumed. Or, perhaps, it _knew_. I attempted to affirm, to make some weather acknowledgement that I had heard the voice, and was, in fact, myself, but my tongued turned to sand and stone in me mouth.

"Do naht try to talk, Cap-tain." The angel of death strangely soothed me sensibilities. I remember nothin' after that for what seems like quite some time.

The next vision that becomes clear in my mind's eye has no known time or heading. It simply exists, somewhere in the dark recesses, of a mem'ry, clouded by much time, magic, and seawater.

I still canna' see a bloomin' thing. The deathly weight an' cold are still upon. Once again, my senses mist over, and I experience fear. However, I find myself as uncarin' about such an internal display as a dead man should be.

That's when I get to thinkin'. "Dead man?" I ask myself. As if in answer to my thoughts, the otherworldly voice clarifies.

"I be restorin' your mem'ries, Cap-tain Barbossa."

That be my name. I knew it then as I know it now. But…it is not the only name I've ever had. A soft English voice, with a laugh like pealing bells, calls me her "little Hector." A child, for somehow I know that I was one, once, and sudd'nly are again, cries out joyfully for "Hec." Another voice, coming like the others from far across the void of lost space and time, strengthens my still heart when it refers to meself as "son." Over the years, which are slowly recompensed to me, I bear the names of "my love, ""darling, " sailor," "sir," "quarter master," "first mate," and "Captain Blackheart," among many far less suited to the mouths they escaped from.

Soon, the images follow these names. I am forced to watch my life, from my earliest remembered moments on, pass before me. It seems that a lifetime of mem'ries unfold at their original pace, but how can this be so? Perhaps my mind loosed its sails and flanked, speedin' ahead while it played out for the many acts of my life.

The last vision before recalling the previous darkness is of lookin' down at me own chest, ripping apart my fine waistcoat, and seein' my blood spill freely from my linen shirt for the first time in ten long years. I look up, as the pain- glorious as it were- and the chill of the mistress Death set in fierce upon me, and I can see now that thar be another instance where my weathered countenance spelled out my well-kept secrets like they were hanged in the public square for all to see. I spoke- ah, aye, I did indeed mention that I could feel again. My head was of the mind to take a bite of my apple- the blasted curse of un-death finally lifted, but my arm denied me response. None of me would follow my actions. The chill continued to seep into my bones. I could see, in vision that seemed a million nautical miles away, the face of Jack Sparrow- oh, wait, _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, as he prefers to be called, jumping between triumph and sympathy. I didn't have the mind to wonder why until much later, a time after this tale will be told. Elizabeth Swann took a breath somewhere in a realm in which I could not turn my head to see- Will Turner took a step. Time itself slowed down around me. Aye, now I knew what was comin'. I should've been nervous, or even, perhaps, unsatisfied, but even sans the taste of the delectable fruit I'd been waitin' so long to savor, I felt nothin' but relief. This was how things were supposed to happen. If I were stabbed, or shot, or thrown overboard, or any manner of a death-resultin' action was successfully played upon my person, I was supposed to die, not live forever as a God-forsaken skeleton with no sensation or emotion to speak of. My vision darkened and swam. I vaguely 'member hittin' the ground when I fell backwards. And then, with what felt like the sea sweepin' me out to shore from my own body, I was in Her vile, yet restful, tender embrace.

"Do ye remember now?" Aye, it was clearly a woman speakin' them angelically accented words ta' me. It was the first voice I'd heard in so long…like a drink of cool rum after a long day's haul. Still, I was powerless to answer. So I thought me reply. This seemed to suffice.

"Cap-tain Barbossa. Ye know dat you 'ave been dead for ten years, and dead for one more?" I mentally nodded.

"Do you know…_what_ I be?" As they had been, her words sounded to me as though we were together at the bottom of the sea. I fought to understand, but comprehension, as it sometimes is wont to do, eluded me.

"You 'ave been tru much, Cap-tain. Da livin' dead, an' now a t'inkin' corpse."

Thought came a bit easier, then. I began to try to convey my intrigue to the mysterious voice.

"Aye, dead I have been for many a year. Unfeelin' as the steepest cliff. But of what now arr ye speakin' of, Death?" I based me assumptions on the only things I knew at the time. Imagine my surprise when she starts laughin' at me! Chortlin' like a giddy street whore.

"Oh, Cap-tain, I am only Death to dose who mistreat me an' my oceans." I sensed she was smilin' at me somewhere beyond the darkness, iffin' I had a body to smile at.

"Then reveal yerself to me, so I can be knowin' the savior of my…apparent consciousness." That's what I assumed it was, though I was far from certain that it was real, and not some hellish nightmare to leave me wanting what I would never again be able to grasp. Perhaps this was my personal penance for me deeds in life.

"I… am Calypso." She said it simply, yet it struck a humming chord in me that had never been struck before, and I am certain will naught be struck again. If I could have drawn a sharp breath, I would have.

"The goddess herself. Trapped in human form by the Breth'ren court. Is that the very Calypso I be speakin' with?" Shock- another feeling I was still uncertain of.

"I am indeed. And you, Cap-tain, must live again, by my power."

I grew bitter, and to this very day I do not know why.

"Arr, Calypso, thar be no need to be resurrectin' a lost cause. Let me return to my peaceful slumber, and ye would do well not to bother me again." I felt my mind pull away from her gentle, prodding touch, a feeling I had been only partly aware of the entire time. Suddenly, I felt a pain that could only be called anguish. It was bliss, to feel so strongly again.

"Hector Barbossa! You will naht be tellin' _me_ what I can an' cannaht do, or ye will feel da wrath of a goddess, for all eternity." Her voice was sharp, but as she spoke, the pain began to fade. I wished it hadn't. Still, locked in me head, I began to do one of the things I have taken to over the years- negotiations.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Calypso. I am but a man lost in a sea of darkness. As ye can imagine, it is a foul feelin', to be sure. Perhaps if I could see again, and make proof for myself that you are with me, I would be more…compliant."

The goddess seemed to wage war in my mind, before the turbulent seas of my thoughts calmed. She smiled again- I am certain of it.

"Den see agin, Hector Barbossa." There was something sly about the way she spoke those bleedin' words, but at the time, I knew only that I wanted desperately to control my sight for just a moment more.

Listen well, though I doubt another man will ever find themselves in this position. When a goddess and voodoo priestess is resurrectin' you, be sure to let her do so at her own pace. Do not be askin' for favors of sight or touch, as expeditin' the process has ill effects.

I felt something touch my eyelids, and then I pried them open. I saw nothing, for a moment- I believed it to be the cruelest trickery. And then my sight rushed back into my body. But something was wrong, indeed. In my mind, I was barely aware that I was screamin' for Death to take me away again. The pain was nigh unbearable. My vision came in spots and segments- something moved across my left eye slowly, in the shape of a small worm. I cast my gaze downward, and will forever wish that I hadn't.

There was no moonlight, and there was no curse upon me at the time, anyway. I was the man I had been before we had pilfered the cursed coins from the chest of Cortez. But, as a man dead for twelve long months, I was lackin' certain…living aspects.

I was stark naked, and unable to do a thing about it. But ne'er had it been such a pitiful sight as it were that evenin'. I was decomposed, of the sort I had been as the living dead, but as this was not a curse, I could have nearly died again from the fright. My skin was black and gray, and most of it was missin'. I could see me bones and muscles and all sorts of internal workin's that should ne'er be exposed in a man who can still see them. My chest, a hollow cavity, contained my heart and a single lung- neither of which were doing the things they were intended to do. Said heart was covered in a greenish fungus, a fuzzy, detestable creature that was half-eaten by some earthly creature. My stomach, a shriveled shell, twitched in response to the sickness I felt in me system- or what was left of it. Another maggot crossed my eyeball, and then I realized I had none- I was seeing from the magiked sockets where they should've been, a regular breeding ground for the plagues that creep the earth. Frantic, now, I looked around for the goddess who spoke. But all I saw was a small woman who looked at me with a slighted grin and cat-like eyes.

"Is seein' worth de consequences, Cap-tain?" Blackened lips spoke those accursed words, and from within my mind, I pleaded to be blinded once again. Still wearing that vicious smirk, the goddess Calypso circled me as though she were a gull descending on its dinner, picking at my remains with her fingertips. As she went, she brought back the feeling to my tattered body, and I knew what it was to be in Hell. She touched my lips, suddenly, and I could scream, though I had no tongue left to form words with. Me brain must've been exposed, because with a flick of a finger against something that had never before received the sensation of touch, my body thrashed wildly. I could hear my bones creak, with no skin to pad them, and watched in sick fascination as my spine twisted this way and that as I tried to escape what is beyond my storytellin' abilities to express.

I felt the strong wooden table beneath my back, and must not have been thinkin' clearly, because I tried to get up, to run from the unspeakable horror that was myself. But one of my arms fell clean out of the socket and began to thrash on the floor. My screams echoed in the holes that had once been covered by my ears.

Calypso came back into my line of slight, and I felt her fingertips stroke against what had once been my chest, where the bullet from Jack's pistol had bitten through, and was still rattlin' around inside the nearly-empty cavity. She stared into my empty sockets, and dragged her hand beyond that point, down my stomach.

I dared meself to look when a sensation that once would have put me in high spirits-and standing- ended with a hollow snap, and when I saw her chuckle at the… _item_ in her hand, I could stand my newfound torment no longer, and promptly gave my mind up to the darkness once again.

Far be it from me to know the exact passage of time while under the influence of dark spells and black magic. But Iwasn't dead, sad as that were. Once again, my mind returned to me, but I held back from allowin' meself to fully enter the world once again.

"Cap-tain Barbossa. I 'ave brought you back to make a deal wit' you. If you do what it is I ask, you are free to roam de seas once again, a free, living man." Calypso's voice purred in my brain, and I grew curious, despite myself.

"Name yer terms, Calypso."

"I 'ave chosen you out of necessity. You be one of de nine Pirate Lords, and you did naht name a successor before ye died. So I am bringin' you back to reclaim your place as lord of the Caspian Sea, and to set me free from this body." If a goddess can sound wistful, it was wistful she sounded then. But I was wary of such a seemingly simple agreement.

"Arr, is that all?"

"No. You must vow to break dis bond, Cap-tain. And you must vow to bring anoder back from where you 'ave been for quite some time. Or I cannaht let you come back."

"And who be this…other? Last I knew, the other eight lords were all fine and well, and as far as I know, I had no familiar company where I was." Still, it sounded too good to be true.

"'Tis witty Jack Sparrow. He sits now in de locker of Davy Jones, unable to die, but unable to live."

I chuckled bitterly.

"O, Calypso, goddess of the sea, it would be a fine thing for me to be helpin' ye, but I'm afraid that no payment, nor penance would be worth the price of bringin' Sparrow back from a sailor's purgatory."

Of course, as I suspected it would, this angered Calypso once again. That raging anguish was back inside my mind again, and it felt like I was adrift in stormy weather the likes of which I had ne'er even seen. I strove to hold on to this sensation- for it _was_ a sensation- longer this time, but as if knowing what I craved and wanting to dangle it in front of me in torture, Calypso calmed herself.

"Cap-tain Barbossa. Jack 'as de Pearl wit' 'im in de locker."

"'Tis naught but triviality to a dead man, milady."

Those waves rose up again. It is a curious thing, to feel a god touch the interior of your mind, and even curiouser still to feel it's anger.

All of a sudden, I was thrust back into my physical body, and the torment continued for what must have been hours. Calypso stood at the foot of the table, staring me down, and I saw naught but hellish things.

"Then let me show you, Hector Barbossa, what I 'ave in store for ye if ye do not 'eed my requests." There was something much more stable, something darker, to her voice. I pleaded for her to stop, but the pain only increased. This time, however I did not lose consciousness, a sorry fate for the likes of me.

"Get up." She commanded. Aye, my body was not me own as it surrendered to her otherworldly power, and rose up from the table. Every movement was another death in itself, every pain felt in life multiplied on an incomprehensible scale.

"Now. Walk." I watched in horror, unable to do anything but scream, as my rotted legs began the torturous trek past Calypso, as she pointed to the door of the hut we were in. I tried to remove myself from the pain, tried to hide in the corners of me mind, but she would be loathe to allow it. We walked out, together, into the humid swamp. A chunk of my skin fell off and onto the wooden planks beneath what was left of my feet. We waded down, into the swamp together, and she shook with the might of her anger and sheer control.

"Hector Barbossa! You 'ave been brought back from de dead, and were intended to be made whole again. But now you will spend eternity trapped in your own corpse, the victim of your own worst fears."

It was then, in the swamp, that I began to see what could not be a delusion, nor a trick of the mind, nor light. It was her promised punishment, exacting itself.

The nature of the things I saw I shall not reveal to ye, as fears are meant to be kept in the depths of a man's soul, and to be dealt with only at the lengths they need to be. They remind us only of how frail we really are, and no man, not sailor nor landlubber, is ever in need of such reminders. Suffice it to say that the faces of many men, dead and alive, swarmed around me that night, in the light of the sliver of a moon that did not affect my physical state whether it was covered by the clouds or not. I will tell ye how it ended, however. I was alone, floating in the most ice-cold ocean you'd ever come across, clinging to a piece of driftwood from a ship that had sunk years ago. Lightning struck the horizon. A storm was fast upon me, and the waves kept slammin' into my desecrated body and tryin' to suck me under their unholy grasp. Monsters of lore and legend swam around me, slimy appendages brushing my ankles and sending shocks of pain up through my exposed spine. Another wave broke over my head. My non-moving lung fought for air, even though it needed none. When I broke the surface again, the most horrible sight was before me- nothingness. There was an ocean, but no sky, and below the ocean, no sights to behold at all. I felt enclosed and alone. And it was worse than the darkness of death. I am betrayin' my own interests when I reveal to ye that I lost a bit of my strength at that time, breakin' down in such a manner as whining wenches and newborn babies are known to do.

"Calypso!" I cried out, to the best of my ability, as I still lacked me tongue. "Calypso, I accept yer terms! Free me from this hell, and I shall bring back Sparrow and set ye free! On my honor, I swear it to ye!" My voice was swept away by the monstrous wave that rose up in front of me. I did the only thing I could- prayed for this to end.

"Cap-tain Barbossa."

"Aye?" I had closed my eyes to the terror.

"The deal 'as been made. Open yer eyes." Calypso sounded less like a goddess and more like a mortal woman.

With much trepidation and worry, I opened one eye, and found that there were no maggots across my vision. I opened the other, and looked around.

"Let de air flow into yer chest, Hector, and let the beat of de swamp drums infect yer heart." She smiled as she said it.

My body shuddered as it drew its first true breath in ten and one years. My back arched off the table- I could feel it beneath me, without pain. Nothin' creaked or fell off, this time. My heart began to beat, true as it did prior to bein' cursed, and within moments, I was as unaware of it and takin' it for granted as the next livin', breathin' man.

In surprise, I found I could move of me own accord. I reached up and touched my face- feelin' skin and hair, I continued my exploration. No open wounds. No exposed organs. Naught but my own, familiar flesh, fully intact an' doin' its job coverin' all my important assets. Rememberin' somethin' suddenly, I sat up with a start, staring down the length of my body, and finding that particular part to be in its intended place, I relaxed, and heaved a sigh. Calypso looked at me with a small smile.

"Welcome back to de land of de livin', Cap-tain." She watched with a mirthful eye as I inspected myself further, marvelin' at her fine work and the way the light- candle and moon- played on me skin together without complaint or changling tactics.

Curious now, I touched the surface of the table. It was smooth beneath my fingertips. Were I a different sort of man, I could have wept for joy. I touched my skin, my hair…all the things I could get my hands on. I wanted to feel them all, as though I had ne'er felt them before.

Calypso handed me my clothes- which, surprisingly, had been washed, as to remove the curse of grave dirt. I slipped into them easily, reveling in the feel of cloth on skin. It was a new sensation entirely. She watched with a deep intrigue, as I'm sure my face must have told volumes about my exponentially growing enjoyment. As I finished pullin' on my second boot, she padded over to me, and stood before me, holdin' somethin' in hand behind me hat.

"Calypso, what have ye got there?" I smirked, feelin' the sensation of my face moving to make the expression. She placed my hat upon my head, having to stand on her tiptoes, and when she removed her hands from the crown of me head, she was waving a beautiful green apple in front of my face.

I trust ye understand, 'twas the most beautiful sight I have ever, and will ever see.

I reached out for it, but she snatched it back, lookin' up at me with a knowin' face.

"Cap-tain."

"Aye?"

"You will naht be goin' back on our agreement. You can imagine de…consequences…for yourself."

I wavered. Was it worth the trouble? Could I have held out in that world she had created for me to spend forever in?

The apple reflected the candlelight, its skin the finest emerald my eyes had ever beheld. How long had it been! My mouth watered- another ability that had been previously stripped of me for what felt like a lifetime. I licked my lips.

"We have a fair accord, Calypso." I moved for the apple again, but she just smiled and held it out even further. I could have taken it, but I held back, wary of my actions in such a place, before such a master as the goddess herself.

"Around dese parts, I am known as Tia Dalma."

"Aye, I understand."

Her head turned, suddenly, towards the door.

"We seem to be 'avin' company, Hector. I believe they are old acquaintances of yours." With that, she placed the apple in my outstretched palm, and left the room.

I brought my prize to my lips, rested them on it, but found I could not take a bite. Not yet. I wasn't ready yet. I walked around for a while, back and forth across the room, trailing my hands along every surface, every thing I could conceivably touch and feel in return. I felt the weight of my clothes, felt their movement around me. I stroked the fabrics and leathers. I pulled me sword, and purposely sliced the tip of my finger with it. I watched myself bleed, just a couple drops, and the sting elated me. Sheathing the weapon, I sat down on the edge of the table again, and felt the apple in my hand. My palm had warmed it- oh, how good it felt to have warm blood coursing through these old veins again!- and I twisted it to feel the coolness of the opposite side. I bounced it up and down in my hand for a moment, before I caught wind of the words downstairs. I moved to the door, and listened.

I heard voices I recognized after a moment. Ah, Joshamee Gibbs had come for a visit. Masters Pintel and Ragetti, as well. And then, another voice I was not so glad to hear, but found I held no more ill-will for it than for any other man that would be posin' a threat to me treasure and integrity.

"If there was anything could be done, to bring him back…Elizabeth-" William Turner was cut off by Calypso.

"Would you do it? Hm?" She sounded excited. I crept further out from the door. Calypso questioned none-other than the infamous Elizabeth Swann. More goading followed, and then suddenly, ayes, and a soft yes in agreement to her terms.

"But if you go and brave the weird and haunted shores, at world's end, den you will need a cap-tain, who knows dose waters."

I realized she spoke of me, and I smirked again, feelin' it break across me face like the morning sunrise on the horizon. I started down the stairs, making a grand entrance worthy of the looks I received- after all, I was risen again! And finally, seeing fit to deserve my precious apple, I took my first bite of its succulent flesh in eleven years.

And so, I bring ye back to the matter at hand, after all that pomp and circumstance. I have kept my promise to Calypso, so far, begrudged and burdened as I may be. When I signed on, I knew my Fate was still in the hands of another, instead of my own. But that's the price to pay for receivin' yer second chance at somethin' no man is ever supposed to try again at.

Truth of the matter is, my face betrayed me that night, for my real intentions. I'm not settin' Calypso free for the good of us, or the world, or herself. It's not any sort of duty I feel or greater callin' I am heedin'. And it's certainly not on Jack Sparrow's account.

Calypso brought me back from a Hell I once thought I knew, but had never even imagined. And I'll be damned to another eternity of that dreamland-torment if I get sent back there without a fight.


End file.
